Proving one's worth
by darkmoonlit
Summary: Caryn Duncan is a merchant girl trying to make a name for herself in a court full of blueblood conservatives. Her brother is trying to make a life for himself as well. Meanwhile the clock ticks until their father dies, and his heir cuts them off.
1. Chapter 1

Two figures stood together in the shadows of the palace gardens. Though the moon was bright, their faces, turned away from it, were impossible to discern. A parcel was handed from one to the other, and they quickly turned away, one swinging up onto his mount, the other hurrying off on foot. The sounds of swishing skirts and horses hooves faded into the night.

When Caryn returned to her room, she slipped silently out of her dress and into bed. The package could wait till morning, all that she needed now was a good rest. In the morning she would open the package that her brother insisted on delivering at 2 am rather than at a more respectable hour. For now, all she wanted was a soft bed, some warm blankets, and a pillow to rest her head. She reached what the sisters at the Convent called the "Shores of Sleep" soon enough, trying to recall the rocking of waves that had lulled her to sleep so many nights out on the water. Lying there she could feel them rock her still, and rocking ever gently, they let her drift slowly to sleep.

The young man on the horse reached the city in no time, and looking for a place to spend the remaining hours of the night, fell upon a small in. The Dancing Dove, being a somewhat small establishment, had no more rooms to let, so he paid board for his horse and settled in the hay loft. He too lay there remembering the rocking of the waves, but they brought him no peace, instead he thought of a soft brown pair of eyes, and long flowing hair, slowly drifting away to sea. His sleep was much more restless than his sister's. He tossed and turned on the scratchy hay, trying to banish the face from his memory, trying to forget _her. _But how can one forget someone so perfect, so sweet and gentle? It is not easily done, and for many not done at all.


	2. Chapter 2

The first bell of morning rang out, Caryn's eyes snapped open, suddenly wide awake. She groaned silently as her maid entered the room with a pitcher of water and a clean dress. "Up with you miss," the girl said in her country manner "Your presence is required this morning by Her Highness the Princess, and if you're late 'twill reflect badly on me, not to mention your family."

_Really, _though Caryn as her maid poured the pitcher of water into the washbasin _if _I _were the Princess, I should like to sleep in once in a while. _Unfortunately for the both of them, meaning of course herself and the eldest princess, the king and his charming wife kept early hours, and expected the rest of court to do likewise. Her face washed she put on her dress, and sad neatly by the vanity while Nicolette brushed her hair. "It's not as if I'm here for business of any sort," she grumbled "all I ever do is attend on his highness, dance at balls, and act as if nothing else matters in the world. I could be so much more helpful at home, I know more about running a manor house than father, and more about horses than most of the stable hands. I'm useless here, nothing but an ornament waiting to be plucked by some blind old man, who is so entranced by me that my lack of title doesn't matter."

Nicolette merely nodded, noncommittal agreement seemed to be the best way to handle her mistress. But as to her comment about the blind old man she assumed that the girl was right. A young girl, who on her father's death would inherit a few pieces of silver, while her eldest brother squandered away what their parents had worked so hard to earn, had little better to expect from life. If she was lucky, she might find a noble husband. If she wasn't she would be cast out onto the streets once her father's money stopped paying for her room and board at the palace. What little magic she could do would be of scant help to her, her lack of time for serious study as a young girl made it impossible to hone her skills. It was more important that the captains of her father's ships got paid in due time than that she learn to do something useful with what little gift she had.

Her hair was neatly held up with small jeweled pins when she left the room, and headed into the gardens. Once again the package would have to wait. For now she must be prepared to show that a merchant girl could have all the class of those with the bluest of blood in court. Sophia of Cavall especially thought that those of merchant blood had no business mixing with the nobility. Caryn would show her she deserved her place at court just as much as the girls from Book of Gold families. So lost in thought was she that she didn't notice a large stone in the walk until it was too late. She went flying forward onto the ground, and her hands hardly had time to break her fall before her face hit the gravel.

The gravel in front of her crunched, and two fine leather boots appeared in her vision. The man who wore them crouched down. "Are you all right," he seemed genuinely concerned "miss?"

A hand appeared, Caryn barely noticed herself taking it, and helped her to her feet. She brushed off her dress, and curtsied politely to the knight who stood before her. "I'm quite embarrased," she said quietly "thank you sir...?"

"Baron Sir Alan of Pirates Swoop, errant knight, rescuer of damsels in distress..." he replied with a smile "but my wife will call me something not fit for polite conversation if I don't hurry along. We have an audience with the King in no less than 10 minutes. I beg your pardon, miss..."

"Caryn Duncan, my lord. Once again my thanks"

The polite bows and curtsies were exchanged, and in the end left Caryn feeling more and more flustered than before. If she hadn't been sure that he mentioned his wife she would have been sure that the Baron had been flirting with her. She hurried off in the direction of the stables, trying to fix her hair and smooth her skirts while hurrying to meet the princess for her morning ride.


End file.
